


Dedue's Apocalyptic Misadventures

by Antimonicacid, imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apocalypse, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antimonicacid/pseuds/Antimonicacid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: Dedue has known Dimitri to be "The Chosen One" for nearly as long as they've been friends. It's always been a given, an indisputable fact that eventually Dimitri would embark on his journey to save the world, and that Dedue would be by his side to assist. That is until the day of Dedue's twentieth birthday arrive, and with it, the sky comes crashing down. There had been some mistake, some fault in the universe or snag in fate that has turned the narrative upside down and backwards, declaring Dedue as the waited hero instead. Now, a year earlier than anyone had expected, Dedue and Dimitri must settle into their reversed roles quickly as Dedue adjusts to his last minute destiny.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22
Collections: Dimidue Big Bang 2021





	1. Adventure One: Get tackled into a creek

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic I wrote for the Dimidue Big Bang! My partner has been Devin, and you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/punchyfakegamer) !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally with a splash that they stop. Dedue doesn’t move as water pools into his shoes. He’s only partially submerged, the water’s only an inch or two deep where he lays.  
>  _This is fine,_ he tells himself while staring up at the sparse clouds in the sky. _Everything is okay._  
>  Next to him Dimitri groans. Somehow, he had managed to catch himself as he fell, resulting in him being nearly elbow deep in mud. He struggles for a second to free himself, but eventually there’s a gross suction noise as he pulls his arm out, followed by a small squeak as he immediately falls face first back into the creek.  
> “Good going,” Dedue says while Dimitri finally sits up properly.  
> “I am so, so sorry–”  
> It’s as Dimitri begins his apology that the light goes off.

**August 21, 2014**

The area outside of Dimitri’s home is an expansive work of greenery. Trees crowd the edges of his backyard, marking off a swift drop to a lightly forested area. As they step through the early fall underbrush, the sound of chipmunks and other woodland creatures scampering away fills the quiet of early afternoon. Small bunches of wildflowers scatter the ground in droplets of bright color, and from here Dedue can recognize New England asters with their delicate leaves and soft purple hue. It’s probably the last of them for the season, although the tall Blacked-eye Susans were sure to show proud and yellow for at least another month. 

Only the sound of rushing cars on a nearby street places them within the realm of reality, otherwise they are able to reside peacefully in a perfectly carved out biome of fantasy. 

Dimitri picks up a large stick laying on the ground and points it forward. Childhood is fantastic. 

“Your backyard is huge,” Dedue says in slight awe, the type of wonderment only a seventh grader could hold for such a simple thing. 

“It’s not mine,” Dimitri corrects him for what is probably the tenth time today. 

“But it is nice,” Dedue insists because it was. The house is gigantic. Larger even than the group home the two of them had shared for the last six months, which was an already decently sized building bursting with almost a dozen other children. The group home was cramped, often sticky and bubbling with noise. 

It’s Dedue’s first time visiting Dimitri’s new house. His uncle, Rufus, had bought it only a month ago. An unwilling purchase bartered by a stubborn Dimitri. He had refused to move to England where Rufus resided, although Dedue isn’t sure how he won that one. It seems ridiculous to bend to the will of an eleven year old and more practical to just chuck him onto a plane and call it a day, but he wasn’t going to complain if it meant Dimitri would stay in town with him for longer. 

Dimitri’s home–or the home Dimitri was currently taking up residence in–was nothing like his previous lodgings. It was tidy to such a degree that it looked more like a stage for a laundry commercial than an actual home. Quiet. Empty as well. Dedue hasn’t seen Rufus even once since he came to visit earlier in the morning. 

“Look here,” Dimitri points his stick-turned-imaginary-sword at a desolate wooden shed. It was falling apart, the wood half rotten and left to waste at the very edge of a small hill. Still, it was an abandoned hut and therefore of the utmost importance to any bored middle schooler with half an imagination.

“I think it’s an old fishing hut or maybe for hunting,” Dimitri says while poking at the soft wood of the door. “It was probably left by the Pilgrims or something.” 

Dedue finds that doubtful. For one, he’s pretty sure most of Pennsylvania was colonized by Quakers and the Amish, although he wouldn’t want to be quoted on his historical accuracy. 

For two, he was also relatively certain that the wood would’ve fallen apart by now, although once again, he wouldn’t want to be assumed as some sort of expert on Pilgrims, their ability to build fishing huts, or the lifespan of shitty, rotting wood. 

“You probably shouldn’t touch it,” Dedue warns him. 

“Because of ghosts?” Dimitri asks. 

“Because of diseases and splinters,” Dedue answers.

His warnings are shrugged off as Dimitri begins to try and pry open the shed’s door. 

“It’s stuck,” Dimitri states the obvious. 

“Maybe you need to push instead of pull,” Dedue suggests. 

The door is damp enough that it seems to bend slightly inward when Dimitri gives a half hearted shove. 

Dedue frowns and also pushes at the door to no avail, before grabbing it by its rusted handle and pulling. 

“See?” Dimitri says while crossing his arms. “It’s stuck.” 

“Okay,” Dedue agrees. “It’s stuck. I shouldn’t have doubted you, Your Highness.” 

Dimitri huffs as his cheeks turn pink. “You’re making fun of me because I was right and you were wrong.”

That’s true. That is what Dedue is doing. 

“No, I’m not,” Dedue denies. “I was agreeing.” 

“While calling me ‘Your Highness?’”

“I was agreeing in a very royal manner.” 

Dimitri pokes him in the side with his stick. 

It’s a dumb nickname some of the other kids had come up with. Without considering the consequences of admitting this to his peers, Dimitri had let slip that, on a technicality, he has distant ties to the English royal family. He hadn’t meant it as a brag, it was just an interesting fact to share, but it had been latched onto quickly by his housemates as an ongoing jab at his wealthy upbringing. 

You could hardly blame a group of foster children for teasing him about his wealth, so Dimitri had let it go. From the very beginning, there was a consensus that Dimitri hadn’t belonged in the crowded estate of the county’s group home. That it had to be some kind of fluke of the system that misplaced him with the rest of them. Surely such a proper boy who had grown up horseback riding and vacationing in Europe didn’t belong with the rest of the troubled youth. It had to be a mistake. 

And they were right. After half a year into Dimitri’s stay, his estranged uncle had contacted the home inquiring about the whereabouts of his nephew. It had been a bug in the system. Of course Dimitri didn’t belong in a state sponsored program, dead parents or not. Of course there would be some rich uncle, holed away in the UK and unaware of the recent orphaning of his kin. Of course he would be rescued and returned to his proper position in life as an elite class. 

He simply didn’t belong with the rest.

In typical teenage fashion, the nickname wasn’t strictly an object of mockery. It held dual meaning within it, both a reminder of that insurmountable distance as well as an acceptance of his oddity. Yeah, he may be a bit weird and easily confused by simple things such as the existence of one ply toilet paper, but he was also fun and good at soccer. Two very important qualities to have when winning over others. 

Dedue missed him fiercely. 

“Hey,” Dedue pushes the stick away. “Stop that.” 

Dimitri places a hand on his chest and looks at him with big, innocent eyes. “I’m only defending my honor. Royally.”

Dedue’s reluctant to admit that he had set himself up for that one. He chooses to grab the stick from Dimitri’s hands instead and tries to swing at his knees. 

“Ha!” Dimitri taunts when he misses by a longshot. “Now give it back!” 

Dedue will do no such thing. Dimitri jumps at him as Dedue holds the stick high above his head and out of reach. Dedue, who is especially tall for his age, has a clear advantage over Dimitri, who is exceptionally short. Dimitri refuses to be deterred, however, and when jumping and swinging his arms proves futile, he settles for a more inventive strategy of literally scaling Dedue like a tree. 

“Hey!” Dedue complains while the smaller of the two tries to hoist himself on to his shoulder. “Let go–”

“You first!” 

“You’re going to–”

“No, I’m–”

They both let out identically high-pitched yelps as the two of them topple over. The stick falls to the ground, and before either of them can make a grab for it, they are both tumbling down the side of the hill. Foliage, flowers, and leaves fly past in a whirlwind of colors, but nothing is there to slow their awkward descent. 

It’s finally with a splash that they stop. Dedue doesn’t move as water pools into his shoes. He’s only partially submerged, the water’s only an inch or two deep where he lays. 

_This is fine,_ he tells himself while staring up at the sparse clouds in the sky. _Everything is okay._

Next to him Dimitri groans. Somehow, he had managed to catch himself as he fell, resulting in him being nearly elbow deep in mud. He struggles for a second to free himself, but eventually there’s a gross suction noise as he pulls his arm out, followed by a small squeak as he immediately falls face first back into the creek. 

“Good going,” Dedue says while Dimitri finally sits up properly. 

“I am so, so sorry–” 

It’s as Dimitri begins his apology that the light goes off. 

At first, it’s a soft glow, barely noticeable in the depths of the water, but then it grows brighter. Or, more accurately, it begins its ascent. 

Large, boiling bubbles in the water turn to foam. A swelling mass of illumination rapidly approaches, until what looks like the sun finally breaches the surface of the stream and washes them in a blinding, violent light. 

Even as Dedue closes his eyes tight, light still stings red in his vision. He’s sure that he’ll lose his sight, or maybe that he’ll be burned to a crisp with nothing but ash remaining. That he’ll be gone in less than a few seconds, consumed by its bright intensity. There’s no heat coming from the phenomenon. A rapturous humming fills the air, vibrating their bones, and threatening to break them apart. 

_This is the end, this is the end, this is the end._ Dedue can’t tell if he’s even saddened by it.

But then, as quick as it had appeared, it was gone. 

“Shit,” Dedue says in a soft voice because if there was ever an appropriate time to experiment with swearing, now was it. 

“Dedue? Dedue, are you– Dedue!” Dimitri’s panic grows as he gropes at the water trying to locate him. The teasing tone and friendly banter is washed away, and although Dedue isn’t able to see him, he can imagine the look of fear on Dimitri’s face.

Even if he can’t see properly, he can follow the sound of Dimitri calling his name. He splashes blind in his direction, until he can grab what he thinks is his shoulder; It’s bone thin and shaking. It’s enough though, and in an instant Dimitri latches onto his arm with both hands and holds tight. 

The more Dedue blinks, the clearer his sight becomes. Bursts of color begin to fade away, and as they do, two figures take blurry shape before him from where the light once was. 

They’re people, but not quite. Too stiff to be alive. 

“...statues?” Dimitri sounds unsure as he says it. He’s right though. Two granite statues sit in the middle of the creek. What looks to be an adult man and a teenage girl, they grasp hands and stare forward with blank, unseeing eyes. Their presence is an impossibility. There’s no way they could have been there from the moment the two crashed into the creek, but now they stand before them, making Dedue and Dimitri feel as if _they_ are the ones intruding on the monument's proper resting space.

“Okay,” Dedue says. He’s way past the point of bewilderment or fear and has moved straight to acceptance. 

“What do we do with them?” Dimitri asks. 

“Why would I know?” Dedue is completely unwilling to take responsibility for whatever this is. 

“Usually you’re the one with the answers,” Dimitri insists. 

“I thought that was you?” 

“No, I just make things up as I go and hope it sounds right.”

“But I do too.” 

The two are at an impasse. 

It’s Dimitri who inevitably caves. He’s unable to contain his curiosity, and with a deep sigh he begins wading towards the two statues with a fierce determination. 

“Dimitri!” Dedue hisses. Call him crazy, but he isn’t exactly eager to get closer to weird alien relics that had nearly blinded him moments ago. 

“What?” Dimitri asks as he wades closer to the statues. “I’m just going to touch it,” he reassures him despite that being the least reassuring thing he could possibly say. 

“You can’t just touch them,” Dedue insists. “They’re–I mean,” he scrambles for an argument against it. “Do I really need a reason not to? Dimitri!” 

Dimitri waves him off. He’s already waded farther into the water until he’s waist deep and capable of staring the statue of the young girl in the eye. 

“She’s pretty…” Dimitri says while examining her. He’s not wrong. Her features are slight but also pointed. It’s not a traditional type of beauty, it’s more regal in nature. There was a distinctive inhumanity in the curve of her smile. 

Dimitri raises a hand and hovers just above touching her. He hesitates and looks upwards. The gaze of the man is turned away in silence, but it’s no less of a threat regardless. 

“On second thought,” Dimitri begins to retreat with small backwards steps, “perhaps we should go.”

Dedue huffs and crosses his arms. “Yes, Your Highness we should–“

The sound of stone breaking cuts him off. In front of them, a small crack forms across the young girl’s face before splitting into a series of fractures that encompasses the entire structure of both statues. 

Neither of them breathes as they watch. With a creak, a single granite finger twitches on the girl’s hand, and as they busy themselves trying to figure out if this was a trick of the light, her arm stretches out and reaches towards them. 

Dimitri–who has discovered an actual sense of self-preservation apparently–flees. He kicks up water as he dashes away from the pair, and in only a few seconds reaches Dedue and begins to yank him away from the creek. 

They had barely escaped the water when a deep, authoritative voice shouts out to them. 

“Halt!” Someone yells. 

They do not listen. Dimitri and Dedue scramble up the steep hill, grass and mud staining their palms and digging under their fingernails, as something (someone?) chases after them. 

“Stop!” This time the voice is shrill and obviously feminine. 

“No!” Dimitri yells back. 

“Aaaaaaaaa!” The young girl breaks out in a war cry and charges at them. 

Before Dedue can figure out what is happening, something small but dense crashes into him, and tiny hands latch onto his waist. 

“Don’t touch him!” Dimitri is on the defense. Mostly. He wheels back as if to hit her, but chicken outs at the last second. 

“Get off!” Dedue tries to pry her off. “Get her off!” He yells at Dimitri. 

“I’m trying!” He grabs her arm to tug her away, but yanks back as she sinks her teeth into him. “Ow!” He yelps, and whatever reservations he had about hitting a girl are seemingly swept away as he grabs hold of her bright green hair and pulls. 

“Children!” Both the girl and Dimitri are lifted into the air. 

The man from the creek stands holding a child in each arm, and Dedue stares frozen in place on the ground. “That’s enough,” he tells them in the same tone a vice principal might utilize against a rambunctious lunchroom. 

Dimitri kicks him straight in the chest. He’s dropped to the ground, and without pausing rushes over to Dedue’s side. He stands above him, protective still despite his short stature and general princely appearance. 

Dedue pushes himself up from the ground and steps forward so he’s by his side. The two of them stare in defiance at the similarly dripping wet pair before them. The young girl had also been let go when the man had buckled under Dimitri’s hit, and she bares her teeth at them showing off pointed incisors. 

“Flayn,” the man places a hand on her shoulder. “You’re being rude.” 

“He pulled my hair!” She defends herself. 

“You bit me!” Dimitri challenges her. 

Dedue stays quiet. He isn’t sure what is expected of him here. Is he supposed to greet them? Or should he try to threaten them? He mostly wants to run away again, but if he’s being honest, he’s a bit tired and roughed up from all the excessive tackling, falling, and near drowning that has occupied his time for the past five minutes. 

The man clears his throat, and Dedue watches as he begins to awkwardly address them. He’s tall and oddly colored. He has deep forest green hair both on top of his head and along his jaw. He stands up straight, a strange dignity in his posture even as he visibly struggles to breathe correctly after the vicious kick Dimitri had directed at him. Dedue feels smugness well up inside him at the sight. 

“Well, now that everybody has calmed down perhaps we could speak like civilized people,” The man says. 

“Are you joking?” Dimitri asks and Dedue can’t blame him for the bluntness. 

“What do you mean?” the man replies. 

Dimitri scowls, his face twisted up in displeasure the way it always does when he feels as if he has to explain something obvious. “You were statues,” he tells them. “And now you are not. Also, you came out of the river.” 

The girl, Flayn, scrunches her nose up. “You were also in the same body of water,” she argues. 

“Because we fell!”

“A likely story!” 

“If I may,” the man cuts their bickering short with pinched eyebrows indicating a growing headache. He fixes his gaze on them, it freezes them in place and holds them captive. “There are things of greater importance to discuss.” 

“Like what?” Dimitri asks. 

The girl bounces on the balls of her feet. “How old are the two of you? You’re not twenty yet, correct?” 

Neither know how to answer the question. “Yes?” Dedue says, unsure of himself as he finally speaks up for the first time. 

“Yes, you are twenty?” Flayn asks for clarification. 

“Do we look twenty?” Dimitri rolls his eyes. 

“No,” Flayn says. “You look ten.” 

“Hey!” Dimitri yells. 

“For what it’s worth,” Dedue interjects. “I do not think I look twenty years old.” He gets mistaken for an older teen occasionally. Fairly often. It is mostly the default really. But he thinks there’s limits here. 

“Alright then,” the man struggles to get the conversation back on track. “My point is, well, there is much to discuss here. I’ll be blunt, however.” 

Once again there’s that hard stare, but this time Flayn mirrors him as well. The two of them stand leaning in slightly, like predators on the hunt, their gazes intense to the point where there is no mistaking them for something natural to the world that they live in. 

“Time is of the essence,” he says. “We have a lot of work to be done if you are to save the world.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is the first chapter for my Dimidue Big Bang fic. Right now I have several chapters already written out and the plan is for this to be a 12 chapter fic. Thank you so much to the organizers for the Big Bang and also to my BB partner Devin and their very good fantastic art!  
> My twitter can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/biheretic?s=20)


	2. Adventure Two: Argue with a pilgrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dimitri, don’t you see,” Flayn says with a childish glee. “You were born for greatness. The descendent of kings–“  
> “I am not descended from kings!” Dimitri cuts her off. “I’m from Pennsylvania. We don’t have kings.”  
> “Well, King of Prussia,” Dedue reminds him of the mall across the state.  
> “Oh, is Fredrick still around?” Seteth asks. “Nice man. A fantastic beard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing on with the middle school antics (now with elves)

They learn that the man’s name is Seteth. 

“I think he’s lying,” Dimitri whispers into Dedue’s ear as they watch Seteth pry the abandoned hut’s door open. 

“Of course, he is,” Dedue whispers back. “The world isn’t ending.” 

Dimitri chews on his thumbnail and shrugs. “I meant he’s lying about his name, but that part too!” 

“I can hear you,” Seteth calls out from inside the shed. He had gotten the door open successfully, and it was even still mostly on its hinges, albeit quite splintered. 

“Are we supposed to follow him in there?” Dimitri asks bewildered. “That’s basically a murder hut. This is where children are killed.”

“I thought you said it was from the Pilgrims?” 

With wide eyes realization dawns on Dimitri and he grins. “Maybe he’s a Pilgrim!” 

Dedue snickers at the image, and they try to lean over to catch a glimpse of the odd man.

“Once again,” Seteth says, startling them both. “I can hear you.” 

They quickly shuffle forward with burning, embarrassed faces. 

It’s cold inside. Sunlight struggles to filter in through the smudged, tinted windows, and what little does highlights swirling specks of dust thick in the air. There’s little within the shed, a few rusted tools hang on the wall and a chair with one leg lays on its side on the floor next to some animal droppings. 

Dimitri shivers next to Dedue, the autumn chill is in even greater effect with their soaked through clothes. Dedue presses close to him in hopes that some of his body heat will transfer over through the barest touch of their shoulders. Dimitri’s smile is grateful. 

“You’ll catch a cold like this,” Seteth says with real concern etched into the crease of his eyebrows as he watches the display. 

“And you won’t?” Dedue looks over at Flayn and Seteth, but neither seems to mind even though they’re in a similar state of wetness. 

“Do not worry about us,” Seteth assures them. “We are mere guides here to assist you on your path. It would take more than some dampness to keep us down.” 

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to that, so Dedue just says a simple, “Okay.” 

His response isn’t acknowledged. Seteth looks upwards to the ceiling, as if searching for his next words above in between the mildew and rot. “I understand that this may be difficult to process, but I encourage you to try your hardest because as I said before, time is of the essence. Your friends, your family–Neighbors and schoolmates and peers alike. They are all in grave danger in the next few years to come. It is your sacred duty, destined from a time long before your birth, to protect this world from certain destruction.” 

When he speaks there’s a tenor of age to it. Dedue doesn’t know how to describe it, but each word echoes with years and years hidden within its depth. He wonders how long Seteth had been preparing for this moment.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Dimitri says. He speaks with care, the same tone he uses when asking his teacher to clarify a class instruction. “But what are you trying to say?” 

Flayn steps forward now. “If I may, father,” she asks for permission to speak, but doesn’t wait for a response to be given. “What are your names?” 

“Dedue,” Dedue says at the same time Dimitri tells them “Sam.” 

The two stop and look at each other.

“I mean I’m–Uh, Steve?” Dedue says while Dimitri mumbles under his breath “I meant Dimitri.” 

Flayn stares at them. 

Flushing, Dedue looks down at his shoes. “Dedue,” he gives up. He’s never been good at lying. “He’s Dimitri.”

“Alright then,” Flayn seems to just sidestep their entire act. She closes her eyes and gathers her thoughts, and Dedue is struck once again by how pretty she is, even if she had viciously tackled him moments ago. Neither she nor Seteth look quite like anyone else he’s seen before. Their features are hard and immaculately sculpted, and yet their movements are full of grace. When they move, it’s more dance than walk, as if they are more accustomed to floating through the air than traveling by foot. 

He forces himself to snap back to attention when Flayn starts speaking again. Like her father–he thought he had heard her say father–she has a precise way of molding her speech. As if she had crafted each syllable herself with an artist’s pride. 

“My father and I are here to help you become the hero our world needs,” she tells them. “Our awakening just now was not a coincidence; it was a fated action sprung into motion by your appearance. For time unknowable we have searched and prepared for your arrival. We have waited for you, Dedue and Dimitri. With you here, present and alive, the end of life around us looms. And through you, Dimitri, The Lost King–our Savior King, so comes our salvation.”

It’s only when she finishes speaking that she opens her eyes. Her green irises pierce through them, but most striking are her pupils. They’re slitted gold, burning bright with holy flame. 

“Huh?” Dimitri says. It may sound dismissive to someone else, but Dedue can hear the distinctive tint of panic edging in. There’s no humor in either Flayn or Seteth’s speech; Only an undeniable truth that rings deep within both children’s chest. 

“Dimitri, don’t you see,” Flayn says with a childish glee. “You were born for greatness. The descendent of kings–“

“I am not descended from kings!” Dimitri cuts her off. “I’m from Pennsylvania. We don’t have kings.”

“Well, King of Prussia,” Dedue reminds him of the mall across the state. 

“Oh, is Fredrick still around?” Seteth asks. “Nice man. A fantastic beard.” 

“Excuse me?” Dimitri asks, perplexed by the change in topic. 

Sensing that now may not be the time, Seteth straightens up his already perfect posture and nods roughly. 

“I understand this is a lot, Dimitri, but please trust us. The twentieth anniversary of your birth will signify the beginning of the apocalypse. As you can see, we only have a few years to prepare, but Flayn and I have been studying this for literal centuries–“

“That is not a convincing argument,” Dedue interjects. “You can’t just claim immortality as proof for a Chosen One’s existence.” 

“I didn’t say we were immortal,” Seteth focuses on the wrong detail. “We are simply extremely hardy and fairly long lived.” As he speaks, he pushes back wet locks of hair from his forehead, and for the briefest of seconds a tip of a pointed ear flashes before them. 

“Dedue!” Dimitri exclaims. “They’re elves!” 

“Excuse me?” Seteth sputters. 

“You came out of a creek!” Dimitri says. “And your ears are–You’re immortal! Your hair’s green and you’re old!” He’s just listing off whatever weird detail comes to mind, but it’s a convincing argument, nonetheless. 

“We are not elves,” Flayn says. 

“Then what are you?” Dedue asks. 

“If you must put a term to it,” Seteth exhales indignantly. “Dragons would suffice.” 

The two children mull it over. 

“Elves,” Dedue says simply. 

“Definitely,” Dimitri agrees. 

Seteth sighs and moves on. “If I may, could we return to the topic at hand?” 

Dimitri squirms under his gaze. “How am I supposed to be this Chosen One guy? I’m twelve.” 

Seteth sighs in relief when he hears Dimitri’s age. “Then there’s still some years to train you before you turn twenty. I know this is a lot to take in, but it is predestined,” Seteth says. “Flayn and I have traveled the world for many years, falling in and out of slumber as time permitted. Upon our final rest, we knew that this was the last one before our encounter. Only the Savior King could awaken us next, and when he did, then our time would come to assist him–to assist you–in your journey further.”

“But I’m not a king,” Dimitri insists. 

Flayn shakes her head. “That’s not true,” she says. “He referred to you as Your Highness.” 

Dedue shrinks back embarrassed. “It’s a joke,” he tells them. “I was just making fun.” He ignores the sharp glare of betrayal Dimitri shoots his way. 

“How is it a joke?” Flayn asks.

“He’s not actually royalty,” Dedue explains. “He just has a great-great-great uncle or whatever who’s the cousin to a dead prince or something stupid like that.” 

“Exactly,” Dimitri agrees. “It’s not real, my grandpa’s just British. The country is just like that,” he waves off the UK as the anomaly that it is. 

Seteth sighs. “Try as you might, there’s no denying your royal heritage, distant as it may be. And there are other things as well.”

“Things like what?” Dimitri bottom lip pokes out stubbornly. 

“Well,” Seteth says. “There’s literature surrounding this. Age old depictions dating back centuries. You bear a striking resemblance to the artwork considering your long blond hair and deep blue eyes.”

Dedue frowns. “Did you miss the part where he said his family’s European?” 

“It’s more than that,” Seteth tries to explain. “It’s not just Dimitri who’s involved in this, there’s you as well, Dedue.” 

He shuffles at the sudden mention, uncomfortable with the attention on him. He’s always been like this. He’s never been good under scrutiny, but it has only gotten worse since his parents’ passing. All eyes on the orphan. Let’s see what he’ll do. 

“What about me?” Dedue asks even though he doesn’t want to hear the answer. 

For the first time Seteth smiles, seeming to have picked up on his discomfort and attempting to reassure him. It’s a kind smile, Dedue’s shocked to see it. His eyes crinkle at the corner and warmth radiates off of him. 

He’s fond of them, Dedue realizes. As if he was gazing upon old friends, instead of two rambunctious, mud coated brats who have spent the better part of their time being as purposefully unpleasant as they can. 

“The king’s loyal companion,” Seteth says. “Known for his kindness, generosity, and upstanding character.” 

Dedue shakes his head, not disagreeing really, just unwilling to listen. 

Dimitri mulls it over. “At least that part sounds accurate.” 

“Stop it,” Dedue looks away as he flushes. 

Seteth sighs. “Listen children, you know what you are. Deep inside, something much older than you recognizes the truth of your being. Is that not correct?” 

He’s right, but neither wants to admit it. From the very beginning, hearing his words had clicked something into place. It had set off a mechanism that knew the truth. That there were forces larger than the two of them looming above and waiting to crash down.

  
  


Later that night, Dedue and Dimitri are finally dry and in bed. Upon their arrival home, Rufus had taken one look at their mud soaked and beat up appearance and walked away, not willing to crack into that can of worms. 

It’s dark and far quieter than Dedue is used to in the evening. It’s weird to think about what feels odd nowadays. Before the evenings in his family’s home were always mellow, neither the endless bustle of the group home, nor the corpse-like silence of Dimitri’s. Evenings in Dedue’s home were spent playing Pokémon on his Gameboy while his sister watched. They were helping his mother mix together dough that would rest overnight and become cookies the next day. Evenings were listening to his father tell stories from his youth. Ones where he would describe the Cree reservation he grew up on in such vivid detail that it made Dedue feel as if he were there in Ontario as well, instead of miles away in their suburban Pennsylvania town. 

The sound of the television turned all the way down so he and his sister could avoid their curfew. His mother’s humming as she spent too long in the bathroom applying a plethora of creams and face masks to her already flawless skin. The crackle of a walkman playing the same worn tape as his father counted and recounted the day’s earning from the sales of his food truck. 

Simple noises. A consistent thrum of life in the background. Dedue never even considered the idea that he could be taking it for granted until it was gone. 

It’s a struggle to peer through the pitch black of Dimitri’s room. Even though their sleeping bags are rolled out only a foot or two apart, Dedue can only see the vague outline of his sleeping face. It reminds him of his brief blindness of before, after the terrible light had scorched their eyes. 

“Dedue?” Dimitri’s voice barely breaks a whisper. 

The call of his name eases out a breath Dedue wasn’t aware that he was holding. “What is it?” 

“Sorry I shoved you into a creek,” Dimitri says. 

“You fell in too, so it’s fine,” Dedue assures him. He’s mostly concerned that he isn’t the only one who looks dumb. 

And it was Dimitri. He isn’t good at staying angry at Dimitri. 

“Okay,” Dimitri’s voice trails off. He’s silent long enough that Dedue begins to think he had fallen asleep, but then he speaks again. “I don’t want to be some long-lost king,” he tells him. “I don’t know how to save the world.” 

It’s a fair worry. “Seteth and Flayn said that they’ll help. They can teach you and there’s plenty of time to learn.” 

“They said I had until I was twenty. And then it’s just all waste and despair or whatever.” 

“Yes, but that’s, like, a hundred years from now,” Dedue grimaces in the dark regardless. He’s worried too, but he doesn’t want to cause Dimitri anymore stress than necessary. 

Dimitri groans like he has a bad stomach ache. “I suppose. It doesn’t matter if I can or can’t–I gotta do it anyways.” 

“It’s okay,” Dedue says even though he has no proof that it is. “I’ll help too. I will.” 

By now his eyes had adjusted enough for him to be able to see, or perhaps Dimitri had just wiggled closer without him noticing. Either way he can make out the anxiety written all over his face. The lines of worry prematurely digging trenches into his forehead, pulled forward by tilted eyebrows and sad, tired eyes. 

“I thought you were going to die. I thought we would both die.” Fear is marked in his admittance. As if the threat of losing Dedue may come back and catch him off guard. “I don’t know what I’d do if you… you know.” 

And he does know, Dimitri’s parents had died only a few months before Dedue’s after all. 

The death of his family had left Dedue with an unbearable emptiness, an aching rawness he had no ability to even begin describing to others. He was already a shy child, but his grief caused him to withdraw even further. He didn’t want to be near anyone, never mind speak or make friends. It bothered his caretakers. His silence taken as defiance by social workers, and his curt manner of speaking as a challenge to the rest of the youth. Eventually, Dedue had been shuffled into a group home with the rest of the troubled kids. 

Which is when he found Dimitri.

In many ways Dimitri’s loss was Dedue’s as well. Their tragedies were entwined with one another’s. 

“I’m not dead,” Dedue states the obvious. “I’m right here.” 

Dimitri’s facial expression relaxes as exhaustion sinks into his small frame. He really does look too young to be 12. 

“You’ll help me though?” Dimitri is insistent in his questioning. “With saving the world I mean. You promise you’ll stay with me? Promise?” 

“Of course, I promise,” Dedue tells him, full of earnest conviction. “I’ll stay with you until the very end, Your Highness.” 

  
  


**August 31, 2020**

It’s about 8:46am when Dedue picks Dimitri up from his house. 

“It’s fine,” Dimitri says as he takes three different tries to buckle his seat belt. “Really, it’s not a big deal,” he insists while leaning back in his seat and rubbing at his right eye. 

“It is,” Dedue doesn’t bother to look his way while disagreeing, too busy turning around in his seat so he can stare out the rear window of his pickup truck while backing out of his parking spot. 

Dimitri grumbles something to himself but doesn’t argue further as Dedue pulls onto the road and starts driving. 

“I’m sorry,” embarrassment leaks into Dimitri’s voice as he apologizes. “It’s your birthday and you’re busy with me.”

“It’s alright,” Dedue assures him. “It’s only Urgent Care, so it’ll be quick. Now stop touching your eye.” 

Dimitri sinks further into his seat and folds his hands into his lap. “Is this really necessary? It’s just a contact lens and–“

“Do you want your eyeball to fall out?” Dedue cuts him off. 

Dimitri shuts up. He pouts for a minute while Dedue drives in silence, eventually looking nervously in Dedue’s direction and asking, “Do you really think it’s going to fall out?” 

With a heavy sigh, Dedue gives him a curt shake of his head. “No,” he assures him. “At least probably not. I believe I’m the one that’s going to lose an eye, aren’t I?” 

“No, you’re not,” Dimitri insists with a groan. 

It’s an old argument. Years ago, when Seteth had finally tracked down his extensive collection of prophetic tales of apocalyptic end, the two of them had noticed a pattern in the artwork that accompanied some of the texts. In a series of 14th books, small illustrations depicted the ancient journey of their supposed predecessors. They were crude drawings that had a childish nature to them, but the similarities in appearance between them was a bit shocking. There was the young king with his blond bob, and by his side his accompanying knight. Brown skin and silver hair. And for some unknown reason an eyepatch to match.

“What happened to him?” Dedue had asked horrified as a young teenager. 

Seteth had shrugged, hardly listening as he sorted through his stack of hoarded documents. 

The last time him and Flayn had been conscious of the modern world was some time in the late 80’s. They were accustomed to a few years of being awake followed by decades of hibernation, and over the centuries had set up contingencies to not lose their work completely. 

“These are retellings,” Flayn reassures him. “Fragments of fairy tales intermixed with pieces of actual history and the occasional prophet.” 

“Prophet?” Dedue asks.

Seteth nods. “Oh yes. There’s always a prophet. There’ll be one for you two as well. We’ll just have to find someone in the next few years who can foretell both the future and the ancient tales.”

“How?” Dedue asks. “That doesn’t sound like the type of ad you throw onto Cragislist.”

Seteth frowns, the sound of insult coloring his tongue. “Who is Craig? And why would we be banned from his list?”

“Look!” Dimitri cheerfully exclaimed while holding up a scroll with Chinese characters. “You don’t have an eye here either!” 

“I’m going to go blind?” Dedue asked terrified. 

“Definitely,” Dimitri said.

“No!” Flayn yelled while trying to pull the scroll away from Dimitri. 

“Gloves!” Seteth scolded him. “That scroll is nearly fifteen hundred years old you cannot throw it around willy nilly and–“ 

Dedue rested his head against the table and groaned. “I’m going to go blind.” 

Dedue had not lost an eye yet in the last six years, but there was still time. It’s a short drive to Urgent Care, and less than twenty minutes later Dimitri is properly checked in and being examined. Dedue had offered to wait in the reception area, but the doctor had assured him it’d be fine for him to tag along. 

“How long has your contact been in?” Dr. Manuela asks. She had assured them upon their arrival that her first name is fine to use, and Dedue isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about the casualness of it all. 

“Two days?” Dimitri says. 

“Three,” Dedue corrects. 

Dr. Manuela sighs and tilts Dimitri’s head back to examine him more closely. She’s fast, and in a blink of the eye the contact is properly removed. 

Dimitri tries to wipe away saline solution dripping down his cheek, but his hand is slapped away. 

“Don’t touch your eye,” Dr. Manuela scolds. “You already scratched your cornea trying to remove it. You should have contacted a doctor more quickly.” 

“Hmm,” Dedue doesn’t say anything from where he sits to the side of Dimitri. He simply taps his foot and nods. 

“Is that bad?” Dimitri asks. “Will I require an eyepatch?” 

“Well yes, it’s bad but it isn’t tragic,” Dr. Manuela says. “Just be sure to not touch it and be careful as it heals. If you notice signs of infection, then contact a professional.”

“So, no eyepatch?” The disappointment in Dimitri’s voice is obvious. 

Dr. Manuela purses her lips, the gloss shining under the fluorescent lights. “Most studies don’t show any tangible difference whether an eyepatch is applied or not and in fact it may–“ she stops and looks at Dimitri and his dismay. 

Her shoulders sag and with a resigned sigh she tells him, “Fine. I’ll have a nurse bring you one. Maybe it’ll keep you from touching your face so much,” she says while once again shoving his hand away. 

All in all, it’s an errand that takes barely more than an hour. 

Dimitri picks at the adhesive edge of his white eyepatch as he and Dedue walk back to his truck and apologizes for probably the hundredth time today. “Sorry. The rest of the day will be fun. We have cake!” 

That’s true, they do have cake. Dedue doesn’t actually mind spending the morning like this. He’s more concerned about making sure Dimitri doesn’t claw his eye out in the dead of night due to pure stubbornness against seeing an actual doctor. 

“Ah, and you have a paper due soon, don’t you?” Dimitri laments. “Am I distracting you from that?”

“It’s not due until Wednesday,” Dedue assures him as he unlocks the door for him. “It really is fine.”

“But you’re just starting classes!” Dimitri reminds him as he situates himself inside the cab. “I don’t want to disturb your first big assignment.” 

It’s nice to have Dimitri worry about him, even if it’s overblown and a tad unnecessary. Dedue had delayed college for a year, it seemed easier that way and allowed him to build up savings for when he actually began his community college courses this fall, but Dimitri was extremely invested in his return to schooling for some reason.

“And what about your classes?” Dedue asks. 

As Dimitri goes quiet, Dedue feels guilt setting in. Probably not the time. While Dedue had delayed his education, Dimitri had fast tracked his own. He was able to graduate high school a year early and started his college courses across the state last fall. There was a time constraint that came with being The Chosen One, pushing Dimitri to try and utilize the limited time he had as effectively as possible.

By the end of the first semester he was back. 

Dimitri doesn’t like to talk about it. 

“Sorry,” Dedue apologizes while awkwardly starting the car just to leave it idle. 

“It’s fine,” Dimitri assures him. “I was considering online courses. Maybe. I’m not sure.” 

“That’s okay,” Dedue tells him. 

“I’ll be busy next year anyways,” he says. There’s the same ashen look of worry on his face “What does it matter?” 

Dedue doesn’t have an answer for that. Dimitri is turning nineteen in December, marking the last year they have to prepare him for the oncoming apocalypse. 

“Well, let’s forget about that for now,” Dimitri says even though it’s clear that he hasn’t. “What are our plans for the day? I know Seteth and Flayn wanted us to drop by, but I bet that–“ 

He’s not able to finish his sentence as the truck begins to shake.

At first, they think it’s an earthquake, a reasonable assumption with how the world around them is rattling. But then there’s a crack. Not in the earth, and not the buildings around them. It’s a shattering sound unlike any they’ve known before, a colossal noise that reverberates the air around. They watch as something large crashes into the building across the street and sends plumes of dust and cements billowing their way. And then there is another crash somewhere close behind, and another landing in the street and forcing cars to swerve to avoid it. 

It’s this one that they can see clearly. What looks like a sheet of glass sticks straight up from the asphalt. It’s the size of an industrial fridge, with jagged edges and a deep, rich blue. 

Dimitri, someone who is more action than thought, throws open the car’s door even as Dedue yells at him to stay inside. He doesn’t listen though, and he tilts his head upwards and swears viciously. 

Dedue isn’t able to spare his own curiosity and follows after to peer out of his side’s open window. 

Above them is the sky, but it’s wrong. Large cracks line the entirety of the horizon with small chunks of it missing in certain places leaving black, empty voids. It looks as if someone had taken a hammer to it. Like a shattered window or the broken surface of a frozen lake. 

As Dedue stares at the impossible, he begins to see movement along the edges of the gaping holes. Slowly, small black dots crawl out of the holes, looking like ants escaping.

They draw closer, and the nearer they come the more features Dedue can make out. Horrible black claws and snapping teeth. Feathered wings covered in soot and burning red coal eyes. They swarm from the cracks in the sky, searching and screeching in swooping circles until they’re able to pick up a target and head its way.

The beasts are coming their way. 

It’s the apocalypse. It’s undeniable and instantly recognizable for what it is. It’s the apocalypse and it’s more than a year early. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My twitter can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/biheretic?s=20)


	3. Adventure Three: Get tackled into a creek (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That can’t be right. Dimitri is a Sagittarius,” she says with self-assuredness that rivaled Seteth’s own faith in his life’s work of research. When nobody responds, she frowns with a pinched expression. “If the apocalypse was a few days late and he was a Capricorn then sure, I would buy it,” she goes on to explain. “However, I refuse to accept that he is a Virgo.”  
> “You’re disagreeing with this over astrology?” Seteth asks, baffled.  
> “Yes!” Flayn is determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Apocalypse time!

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dimitri repeats a mantra of disbelief. 

Dedue gives a curt nod but isn’t really listening to Dimitri’s horror stricken ramblings. He’s focused on driving, an impossible feat with the chaos flooding the road as he and others try to maneuver past fallen trees, downed power lines, and broken chunks of what he can only assume to be the sky. 

“Seteth said–Seteth was sure that this couldn’t–We’re supposed to have time!” Dimitri struggles to string together a coherent sentence. He’s pale, a bit green around the edges as he tries to piece together the events of today and rationalize them into something that is logical. 

Dedue on the other hand has taken a different approach where he is set on ignoring everything going on until someone can tell him what to do. The first stage of grief is denial, and his second go at it is far more comfortable than when his family had died. The apocalypse is far more serene. Even as the sound of sirens rips through the air and car horns blast, he feels at peace. 

“I think it’ll be fine,” Dedue says. 

“What? How is this fine?” Dimitri asks. 

Dedue shrugs, he doesn’t have an answer. “We’ll go to the library and it’ll be fine.” 

Rubbing his temples, Dimitri groans. “Please don’t go crazy,” he begs. “I’m the crazy one. There can only be one crazy one.” 

“You’re not crazy,” Dedue frowns. “Look, we’re already here.” 

The only viable parking spot in front of the library is occupied by a light pole knocked over. Seeing little options otherwise, Dedue pulls in front of a fire hydrant with a guilty conscience. 

“I should find a different spot.” He looks side to side as if a fire truck or police car is about to burst onto the scene. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” Dimitri says again. “There’s supposed to be time.”

“The library is going to burn down and it’ll be my fault,” Dedue says. 

He’s already putting his car into drive to move it further down the street when he sees a dash of green burst out from the library’s entrance. 

Flayn comes sprinting at his car, calling for both Dimitri and Dedue as she waves. Behind her, Seteth follows with a quick, shuffling step. His arms are full of books and parchment, and Dedue can recognize parts of them from his ever-growing collection on the apocalypse’s study. 

“Friends,” Flayn jumps into the backseat and leans over to greet the two. “Something is amiss in our world.”

“Really?” Dimitri asks. “I haven’t noticed.”

Flayn blinks, not taking in his sarcasm at all. “Dimitri, what happened to your eye? Have you been injured already?” 

“No,” Dedue answers for him. “He got his contact lens stuck in his eye and scratched his cornea.” 

Flayn doesn’t seem to know what to make of that, but before she can ask for further details, Seteth climbs into the truck as well. 

“Something is wrong,” Seteth says. 

Dimitri leans forward to drop his head onto the car’s dashboard. 

“I don’t want to be presumptuous about our circumstances,” Dedue says. “But to my untrained eye it seems that the world might be ending.” 

“That is correct,” Seteth says with a solemn nod. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dedue tells him. 

“I’m sorry, but I do not know why this is happening either.” 

This isn’t what he wanted to hear. The timeline of the upcoming apocalypse has some fuzzy areas to it, but Seteth and Flayn have always been set on it occurring on Dimitri’s twentieth birthday. They’re supposed to have time. At least another year before everything goes to shit and Dimitri has to leap into action to save the world that they know. There is supposed to be time for Dimitri to prepare himself to act.

Dedue taps his fingers onto the steering wheel and tries to force an excuse to come to mind. “And you’re sure this isn’t climate change causing this?” he asks.

“No, Dedue. I do not believe that–“ 

Something crashes into the side of Dedue’s truck, nearly tilting it onto its side and jostling the occupants violently. 

At first Dedue thinks it’s another car sliding into them or more debris falling from the sky, but the hit isn’t a singular action. The sound of steel bending screeches through the air. The car is shaken in an intentional motion that tears into the passenger side’s door. 

“Oh God,” Dimitri says, his voice mildly shocked as he stares wide eyed out the car’s window.

When Dedue looks as well, he can’t help but think that the response Dimitri had given is far too subdued. 

Dark red and black feathers crowd the view from the passenger’s side. Claws dig through the car door like it’s nothing, forcing Dimitri to scramble back to avoid being gouged open. He bumps into Dedue, staring as the claw retracts and leaves deep scars in the door, before slamming back into the metal, denting it. 

“Not climate change,” Dedue says under his breath as the demonic bird opens its beak and screeches. 

“Drive!” Flayn yells while shaking the back of Dedue’s seat. “Drive drive drive drive–“

Dedue peels out of the space, the sudden shift throwing Flayn onto her side as they rush onto the street. 

“Seatbelt!” Seteth scolds her while pulling her up to help buckle her in. 

The demonic bird doesn’t relent. The roof of the cab is caved in as something heavy jumps on to it. Seteth is barely able to duck his head down to avoid the sharp beak that pierces through the roof, shrieking into the cab and spraying viscous, black fluid all over. 

“Gross!” Flayn swipes at her at her front trying to remove the sticky secretion off her skin. “Dedue, do something!” she yells as the bird continues to try and pry open the car like it was opening a can. 

He tries to shake the bird off, swerving violently from one side of the street to the other as cars honk in disbelief at the shocking sight. It’s to no avail, and the bird stays fastened tight to the car, clawing its way closer to the front with awful, sporadic attacks. 

Eventually, its feather head appears in front of the windshield. Red eyes stare into Dedue’s own, a burning hatred within them that feels intimately familiar, as it opens its beak wide to reveal multiple teeth lined tongues. 

Dedue slams onto the brakes, jerking everybody in the car forward, and sending the demonic bird soaring through the air to come to a skidding crash on the street. Its wings struggle to lift, the same black liquid oozes on to the road as the bird twitches and tries to stand. He tries not to think too hard on what he’s doing as he hits the gas and floors it, running the monster down with a sickening crunch. 

“Oh, this isn’t very good,” Dimitri says in a flat tone that Dedue recognizes as his panic voice. 

“That is– that  _ was  _ a mithril fledgling,” Seteth says with both awe and horror.

“Fledgling?” Dedue asks incredulous. “That’s a fledgling?” 

“Yes. The first of many,” he says with a hollow voice. “They’ll seek out The Chosen One. An innate instinct to destroy The Savior King. There will be more.” Seteth shakes his head, not able to say more and already too lost in his own thoughts. “It truly is the end of the world.” 

“That makes no sense!” Dimitri twists around in his seat to face him. All the pink in his face has been washed away by a sickly ashen color as the thought of being chased down by swarms more of the beasts sinks in. He pulls a hand through his hair, leaving blond ends sticking up and making himself look absolutely wild in combination with the eyepatch he now wears. 

“Dimitri, I know this is hard to comprehend, but this is what we are facing right now,” Seteth says in the same soothing voice he always uses when reassuring the two of them. Whether it’s for test prep or learning a difficult maneuver with a lance, his complete faith and confidence in them remains the same. 

“I’m sorry,” Dedue apologizes while parking his beaten-up truck in Dimitri’s driveway. “But I’m inclined to disagree. You said that this wasn’t supposed to occur for another year. Why is this happening now?” 

“I’m not sure, Dedue,” Seteth tells him. “But we can do this. We’ve trained for this.” 

“Seteth, I don’t want to do this,” Dimitri says in a rush of words. 

“Dimitri, I know that–“

“I don’t want to do this,” Dimitri’s tone is firm and leaves no room for argument. 

Seteth shakes his head, deep pity in his eyes as he knows he doesn’t have the answer Dimitri wants. “I understand, but Dimitri, you must.” 

Dedue watches as Dimitri turns away. He stares straight ahead, refusing to engage further or acknowledge Seteth’s statement. 

He doesn’t have words of comfort to offer his friend. He doesn’t have an out to make this all go away. 

“Come on, Dimitri,” Dedue tells him in a quiet voice. “We need to go.” The important part is the  _ we _ . That he isn’t in this alone.

Dimitri barely shifts his gaze his way. He holds it there, before taking a deep breath and nodding. 

“Alright,” Dimitri agrees. “Okay,” he says while opening the car door and stepping outside. 

Dedue follows after. He stands at his side and squeezes his shoulder in encouragement. 

“It’ll be fine,” Dedue reassures him. 

“Yes. It’ll be fine,” Dimitri doesn’t sound as firm, but he begins to walk regardless. 

They don’t go inside Dimitri’s-not-home. The four of them cut over the front lawn, aiming straight for the trees lining the backyard. Over the last few years they had renovated the hut to be actually suitable for their meetings and training. Rufus, quite frankly, couldn’t give half a shit what Dimitri did with the thing as long as it offered him something to stay busy with. 

Reenforced with nicer wood, a fresh coat of paint, and some light furnishing, it made a decent hide away in the warmer months, although it’s near uninhabitable once winter hit. Seteth had been considering insulating the inside this fall, yet another way to extend the reach of their training in the last year before the apocalypse would begin. 

“Alright,” Dimitri says while pinching the bridge of his nose, obviously trying to piece together the last hour of his day into something coherent. “So, something is going on.” 

“The apocalypse, yes, that is happening,” Flayn says. She sits at a small table Seteth had bought secondhand. She’s chipper in her response in a way that feels incredibly Flayn of her, and Dedue isn’t sure if he appreciates the normalcy or not, even if the consistency is something to keep hold of. 

“Why?” Dimitri asks the question they’re all wondering. “I thought the age limitation was certain. That there was a definite timeline for this to occur.” 

Seteth doesn’t sit beside his daughter. He paces instead, a behavior familiar to them as he puzzles out the inquiry. “It’s unusual,” he says finally. “There are a few things that remain the same across the documentation we’ve collected, and the twentieth year of your birth is one of them.”

“Maybe the documents are wrong?” Dedue offers. 

Seteth shakes his head at the idea. 

“Or perhaps there was some error in Dimitri’s birth. Maybe the year is wrong?” Flayn makes her own suggestion as well. 

Dimitri sighs. “I find that hard to believe. Hospitals keep records, and I really do hope that someone would have noticed if we had just skipped a whole year of my life and forgot about it as a child.” Irritation was obvious in his tone, the same stressed voice that has been creeping up more and more in the last year. “Are you trying to say that it’s more likely for me to have mistaken my birth year than for the mythology to be wrong?”

Seteth strokes his beard, his lips pressed thin as he struggles to answer the question. “Well, mostly. Yes. I do believe that to be more likely.” 

Dimitri barks a laugh. “Fine. Sure. That’s delightful! Happy birthday to me then!”

Flayn stands up and crosses her arms. “I have to put my foot down on this one,” she says. “I don’t think this is the most likely answer.” 

Dedue nods and leans against the shed’s wall. “Go on, Flayn,” he encourages her. He doesn’t have much to add to this conversation, all of it sounds equally as stupid an explanation to him, but he isn’t sure of a polite way to phrase that observation. He listens intently instead, figuring that someone will figure this out. 

“That can’t be right. Dimitri is a Sagittarius,” she says with self-assuredness that rivaled Seteth’s own faith in his life’s work of research. When nobody responds, she frowns with a pinched expression. “If the apocalypse was a few days late and he was a Capricorn then sure, I would buy it,” she goes on to explain. “However, I refuse to accept that he is a Virgo.” 

“You’re disagreeing with this over astrology?” Seteth asks, baffled. 

“Yes!” Flayn is determined. 

Seteth sighs heavily and shakes his head. “We’ve been over this; astrology is a pseudo-science that has been disproven and–“

“You’re just cynical!” Flayn argues with a stomp of her foot. Her cheeks puff out while she does, this clearly an argument they’ve had several times over judging by the way Flayn crosses her arms and glares. “There are far more unbelievable things in this expansive world than astrology and I find it ridiculous that you would try and discredit an entire field of study.”

Dimitri shrugs. “Seems a bit hypocritical considering your own mythical-like existence,” he comes to Flayn’s defense. 

Seteth frowns. “We are not mythical.”

“You’re river elves that emerged from the nether to send me on a magical quest six years ago!” 

“Are you still on the elf thing?” Seteth’s tone was fast approaching a flabbergasted frustration.

“Friends,” Flayn tries to calm them down. “We are getting away from the point of this conversation. Dimitri is a Sagittarius; therefore, it is impossible for today to be his date of birth. Now, if you would like to see an outstanding example of a true Virgo then look no further than our very own Dedue!” 

“Huh?” Dedue says, not expecting to be thrust into the spotlight like this.

“The very pinnacle of an earth sign,” Flayn continues. “He is dependable, caring, a perfectionist, and a bit passive aggressive.” 

“Are you… complimenting me or insulting me?” Dedue asks unsure. 

Flayn shakes her head. “I’m just stating the facts, nothing more.”

Seteth shakes his head. “This is absurd. I have no idea why we are even discussing this. I suppose since we’re on the topic, however, Dedue I don’t think either of us have wished you a happy birthday yet. A lot is going on, but at some point, we really must all celebrate and…” 

The end of Seteth’s sentence trails off like the dying tendrils of a pipe’s smoke. His words dissipate into the room, cloaking everyone at once in their implication, as a collective realization dawns on them. 

“No,” Dedue speaks first and rushing panicked to try and deny the unsaid preemptively.

“Dedue,” Dimitri replies astonished. “It’s your birthday. It’s  _ your _ birthday.”

“No,” Dedue waves his hands in front of him as if he could swat away the unwelcomed accusations of him possibly being born. “Just because it’s my birthday doesn’t mean that–“ 

His defense is cut short.

The wall behind him erupts into splinters, effectively ending any argument Dedue could form. Flayn shrieks before erupting into vulgar swearing, Dimitri calls his name, but beyond that Dedue struggles to take in any more detail. 

He’s too distracted by the searing pain of thick claws swiping into his side. They break apart the wooden shed like wet tissue paper, leaving nothing to soften the blow as a furred beast throws the entirety of its might against Dedue. Its claws don’t manage to catch, instead Dedue is simply swatted like a bug flying through the air, and once again, in the same manner as six years prior, he is tumbling down the hillside. 

This time, however, it isn’t with the company of Dimitri. The monster bounds after him, leaping on him like a dog to a bone as they fall into the cold creek. The water is deeper than Dedue remembers. He isn’t barely covered by it like before, no, this time he sinks completely under the surface, air bubbles and pieces of green foliage trailing behind him as he descends into the unnatural depths. 

He jerks his arms and legs in an attempt to reach to the surface but is swiftly stopped from doing so. This time when the beast clings to him, its claws do break his skin. The monster is large, far larger than Dedue, but Dedue kicks and scratches regardless, in the same base instinct he gained from years of unwanted scuffles with other children in the various homes he’s occupied. 

It feels hopeless. His back hits the muddy bottom, and clouds of murk are dredged up as he continues the futile fight against teeth and claws, even as his vision rapidly blackens from the lack of air in his lungs. 

But then there’s a light, one that is intimately familiar. It pulsates under the earth, and seeing little other hope, Dedue digs his hand into the sandy mud to grab whatever glowing object there is. 

What feels like metal wraps around his hand, although he’s unsure of its actual material. It’s unnaturally warm and light to the touch, an alien object he hadn’t encountered before, but some sort of deeply embedded knowledge that lives inside his very muscles tells him how to swing his arm. It guides him on how to wield the unknown instrument, nearly blinding himself with the illumination as he digs the glowing object into the beast’s flesh. 

The effect is instant. The beast garbles out what Dedue supposes is an underwater howl, and thrashes. He wants to take the chance to move away, to escape from the dangerous depths of the water, but he resists the urge. Some part of his mind notes that what he is holding appears to be a sword, but it’s a backburner thought, crowded out of focus as he plunges the blade deep into the furry mass and watches as black blood boils out. Eventually the fight in the beast dies out. Its movements become frenzied, but then staggered and labored until it’s little more than a twitching heap at the bottom of the creek. 

There’s no relief that comes with the beast’s death. Dedue still can’t breathe after all. He tries to kick to the surface, but his legs are leaden. His chest is a bursting, hot bubble. His vision a mixture of oxygen deprived splotches intermingled with the cloudy tar blood swirling around him. 

And Dedue thinks that perhaps he’ll die. Nothing more than a footnote in a fairytale. Not even important enough to make it to the climatic end of the apocalypse’s rapture. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! I have the next few chapters written out, so I'll do an update next Saturday :)  
> Until then, my twitter can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/biheretic?s=20)


	4. Adventure Four: Be a hero (reluctantly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But what exactly are we doing beyond the abstract of ‘save the world’?”  
> “Well, we will need to go to Florida,” Seteth says.  
> Dedue furrows his eyebrows. “No, really.”  
> “Yes, really. Consistently, the literature points to southern Florida as the place for a final confrontation.”  
> Dimitri rubs his chin and considers it. “That sounds appropriate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are gonna be alright. Mostly.

The next sensation Dedue can recall is the feeling of grass against skin. The greenery prickles his cheek, and as he turns to avoid the unpleasant texture, pain reverberates in burning waves throughout his muscles. He sucks in a tight breath, and that is a mistake that leads to him rattling out a shaky cough that tastes of mud and sulfur. 

“Dedue…” his name is a familiar acquaintance to Dimitri’s tongue. Worry alights it. In the background he can hear the sound of Seteth and Flayn chattering something, but it’s too far away and too dull in comparison to the compassionate warmth that cloaks Dimitri’s voice. 

It would be a mistake to call Dimitri gentle. His every action has an inherent fumbling nature to it, an accident waiting to happen at his touch. But he tries, and that’s close enough. His hands cradle the side of Dedue’s face. They push back wet locks of tangled hair and steadies him as he wheezes in deep breaths of the humid summer’s air. The feeling of grass is replaced by wet denim stabilizing his head as clumsy fingers trace a stinging path against a fresh cut across Dedue’s cheek. 

With slow blinks he’s brought back into present reality. As his sight comes to, so does his awareness of the rest of his body. The way it weighs heavy and difficult to move. The feeling of wounds he’s sure should be much deeper than they are. 

Dimitri’s anxious expression solidifies in front of him. He’s dripping wet. His eyebrows pinched in the center, and his irises reflecting an intense panic, as if he’s frightened Dedue will dissolve into nothing if he looks away. 

“You look horrible,” Dedue says finally with a croaking voice because Dimitri does. His hair is in that awkward in between stage where it’s too long to be considered short, and drenched in creek water, it sticks up in random directions. Some blond tufts pointing to the sky and others helmet-slick against his forehead. 

“You were attacked by a wolf!” Dimitri doesn’t respond to the insult directly, too preoccupied by the past like usual. 

Guilt eats at Dedue for causing unnecessary worry. He doesn’t enjoy being the center of attention. Already, nearly drowning feels like an embarrassment he’d rather move past. “It happens.”

“No, it does not!” 

Behind them, Seteth clears his throat in the orderly way that is so familiar to them at this point and waits for their attention. 

With Dimitri’s assistance, Dedue sits up and faces their mentor. It may be the brain damage from having his source of oxygen cut off for too long, but the sight of Seteth makes him chortle. He’s half soaked from the waist down, clearly only getting so far into helping with dragging Dedue out of the lake before Dimitri jumped in and did the rest. 

“Well,” Seteth says. “It seems there are some things we must discuss. Dedue are you… okay?” he asks obviously not knowing how to ask if he’s doing good after being half mauled by a monster. 

Dedue thinks on it for a moment. “Yes?” he says. He’s a bit sore, but overall, mostly fine. No worse than being tackled on asphalt while playing football back in middle school. 

“That’s great!” Seteth says with two awkward thumbs up. 

From his side Flayn speaks up. “He was worried. We all were, of course.”

“I’m fine,” Dedue assures them. 

“That’s great!” Seteth tells him again with a voice sweetened with artificial cheer. 

“He was very worried,” Flayn translates for him. 

“I believe I’m having a heart attack,” Seteth admits. “I can’t even remember if I have a heart.” 

“Okay,” Dedue says. He looks to Dimitri, hoping that maybe he’ll make sense of what’s going on. 

Dimitri shrugs in response. “He was worried. It’s a bit sweet really. Like a mother hen who may or may not have a heart apparently. Learn something new every day!” 

The experience of nonchalance is surreal. It’s clear that none of them fully know how to react to what is happening around them. Even as Dimitri teases, he still grips Dedue by the wrist. Tight enough to keep most of the shake out of his hands. 

“Dedue?” Dimitri asks. 

“Yes?”

“Where did you get that sword?” 

They relocate to Dimitri’s not-his-house basement. On their way they pass the fractured remains of the shed. The entirety of its western wall was broken through, the furniture inside strewn about with deep gashes in its wooden floor. 

A piece of history is gone, and even if Dedue is relatively certain it was not from the time of the Pilgrims, he still feels mournful of its loss. 

“Dimitri,” Flayn says. “Your hair is a wonderment.” 

Dedue snorts. She’s right. Dimitri has always struggled with finding a haircut that suited him, and at the moment seems to have settled into the strategy of “doing nothing” leaving it a shaggy mess. Now wet and stiff with mud, it’s a wild display similar to a mad scientist. It’s shocking how his eyepatch had remained undisturbed even with his brief dive in the water. 

“Thank you, Flayn. As is yours,” Dimitri pouts. He’s still by Dedue’s side, but more relaxed than before. He’s more of an orbiting moon than a terrified shackle around Dedue’s wrist, keeping him from running off and potentially being drowned in more creeks. 

Flayn doesn’t really walk beside them, but does a funny little half skip instead. Her skirt swings as she hums in thought. “Are you aware of the one children’s cartoon where the world is populated by demonic beasts that are forced into battle with one another by their human captors?” 

“Huh?” Dimitri asks. “Pokémon? Are you talking about Pokémon?”

Except he doesn’t pronounce it correctly, making Dedue cringe. Something trips up on Dimitri’s tongue, and it comes out as “pocky-mon'' instead, as if he was a middle aged mother complaining about his child’s bad tv habits. 

“Yes!” Flayn claps her hands together. “With the way your hair is currently styled, you resemble the rat creature from Pocky-mon!” 

Dedue bursts out a surprised laugh, and Dimitri looks at him in betrayal. “No, I don’t. Dedue, tell her I don’t!” 

“It’s called a Pikachu. It’s an electric rat,” Dedue informs Flayn who  _ oohs _ and  _ aahs _ at the new information. 

Flayn begins describing hair care products to Dimitri, who actually nods and listens along to the advice. 

Dedue isn’t sure how Flayn had come to know so much about hair products, or really anything with modern day culture. He’s relatively certain she has a better grasp on the last twenty years of pop history than him and Dimitri combined, largely from her consuming every edition of Teen Vogue in the public library while him and Dimitri waded through Latin and Old English at Seteth’s instruction. From what Seteth tells them, the pair had entered their watery slumber some time back in the late 80’s. Their time over the centuries had mostly been spent in slumber, with intervals a decade or two long for them to collect, research, and theorize for their eventual roles as Dimitri’s guides through the apocalypse. 

“Would you like me to carry that,” Seteth asks from his side in the overly helpful nature one could expect from him. While Flayn had watched fifteen years of backlog of VH1, Seteth had landed himself a job at the local library. Dedue isn’t sure how, but it sounded like the usual (semi) immortal maneuvering of records that him and Flayn were used to.

Dedue shakes his head at the offer. “It’s fine. I have it. It’s not very heavy.” 

“Just because something isn’t heavy, doesn’t mean you can’t require assistance,” Seteth says while eyeing him warily. Some people were born to be overly helpful (semi) immortal librarians and it shows in their constant cryptic, yet kind manner of speaking. 

Honestly, Dedue doesn’t really want to be the one who carries the sword back to the house, even as he declines the offer. He mostly wants to throw it back into the creek and be done with it, but there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that it wouldn’t stay. When they enter Dimitri’s–but not really–house, it’s with a sense of nostalgia so intense that it makes Dedue’s head feel light. There he is, once again tracking mud onto the nice linoleum kitchen floor. 

They relocate to the basement. The area is furnished into an entertainment room. It’s carpeted, and usually Dedue would think to take his shoes off before coming in, but he feels paranoid about the possibility of once again being pulled away by another beast unprepared and shoeless. Downstairs a large tv is pinned to one wall, framed by cabinets of dvds that face stark white couches. If Dedue searches, he can find the artfully hidden away speakers that surround the room. There’s even a kitchenette tucked away in the back with a spread of constantly replenishing snacks. 

It’s more lavish than Dedue’s entire home, but in true rich white fashion, it’s rarely used by either of the Blaiddyd occupants. It’s really only put to use when Dedue sleeps over, then it becomes something to do at night for the two to stream movies and documentary series late into the night. 

Even then the two of them hadn’t been down here since New Year’s. 

Dedue squirms at the thought, and from the corner of his eye he sees Dimitri do the same. He looks away quick, face hot when he accidentally meets his gaze, and Dimitri mumbles about how there’s towels somewhere while scampering back up the steps. 

Putting the thought out of his mind, Dedue lays the sword down on the couch, recognizing that it’s an odd resting place, but it’s not like there’s any less weird options.

“Incredible,” Seteth says as he examines the artifact. 

He’s not wrong. The sword is unlike any Dedue’s seen before. Over the years Seteth has shown them dozens of weapons ranging across centuries of warfare. He’s embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t ever actually thought that this specific area of study would be that useful, even as he took the bit of training as seriously as a teenager could as one’s local librarian scolded him for his not wide enough stance. The idea of weaponry felt antiquated in a world full of much higher levels of defensive tools. He didn’t expect to have to use a sword to defend himself, although in retrospect, it’s not like he had any plans to go buy a gun and shoot a demonic beast in the next year. He’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

It’s not that he ever doubted the apocalypse’s oncoming. Even late at night when the contrarian side of his brain was at its strongest, he still took what Seteth and Flayn said as fact. There were too many unbelievable happenings. Too many ancient resources and first-hand accounts. Dedue had traced over the lines of his face hundreds of times in books and scrolls, photographs of wall paintings and ceramic pots. Time and time again, a gnawing recognition of a history long ago from before any textbook could think to begin, Dedue felt the remnants of a past that he held no memory for. 

The apocalypse’s start was not unexpected. Timing aside, of course. A strange calmness permeates Dedue’s body as the world falls apart around him, as if he was preparing for his driver’s test as a junior in high school instead of the possible end of the world. He’s gotten so used to the idea of it all that the two felt as if they held equal weight. If anything, parallel parking had brought him even more anxiety than what he was feeling now. 

Dedue runs a finger over the cut across his cheek, resisting the urge to wince as he wonders idly if his underreacting was actually another symptom of childhood trauma. Eh.

“What is it?” Dedue asks Seteth who is still examining the weapon. The actual blade of it is spindly and jagged. Its hilt seems crudely crafted and sharpened from some unknown material. It’s bone white, and as the descriptor comes to mind, Dedue realizes what material comprises it and grimaces. 

“I don’t know,” Seteth tells him. 

“How don’t you know?” Dimitri asks as he reenters the room, his arms full of not only towels, but rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and bandages as well.

“I don’t know everything,” Seteth tells him with his nose turned up in the air. “Even at my age there are still mysteries abundant in the world.” 

“Okay, but,” Dedue defends Dimitri’s question. “It did come out of the same creek as you and Flayn.” 

“It’s not like we were born there,” Flayn says as if the implication itself was silly. 

“Where were you born?” Dedue asks. 

“ _ How _ were you born?” Dimitri tacks on. 

Flayn huffs and rolls her eyes. “Must I explain the process of childbirth to two grown adults? Regardless of whether my father and I are as ‘human’ as you, we were all hatched the same.”

Neither one of them are willing to ask for clarity. 

“She’s joking,” Seteth tells them. “We were not hatched. I was one of the Goddess’s first children molded from the ash of a sea volcano. And I met Flayn’s mother in Florida.” 

“I’m,” Dedue scratches the back of his head and searches for an appropriate response “I’m sorry for assuming, Seteth,” he tells him. 

“It is fine,” Seteth reassures him in a tone shockingly similar to the one Dedue uses whenever he has to correct a teacher on an unintentionally offensive statement made in front of the whole class. He’s not sure how he should feel for being ignorant of the ancient mating processes of his otherworldly mentor. A bit of shame and embarrassment color his cheeks at his blunder. 

“Dimitri,” Flayn interrupts the awkward silence in the room. “May I see the first aid supplies you’ve brought? I’m worried about Dedue’s injuries.” 

“Oh!” Dimitri says. “Yes, of course.”

The smell of rubbing alcohol hits the air as Flayn spills some onto a cotton ball. She gestures for him to bend down, it’s a far reach even then, and starts dabbing at the cuts on his face.

“It’s just a small scratch,” Dedue assures them. 

“Or eight,” Flayn says while squinting at his face. 

“It’s not that bad,” Dedue says again because it’s not. 

“But what if it becomes infected? Stay still, I’ll only be a moment,” Flayn insists.

Reluctantly, Dedue allows the attention as Flayn coos over his injuries like a worried grandmother. 

“For being mauled by a demonic beast, it isn’t as bad as one would expect,” Flayn tells him. “I would have expected horrible gashes and the loss of limbs.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Beside her, Seteth hums. “I wonder if some sort of healing was afforded by the properties of the water. Or perhaps if it’s connected to the relic you found. It could be anything really. With the shattering of the sky, new possibilities are abundant as the realm between here and whatever ether lies beyond is eroded. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had become exceptionally hardy as a result of the prophecy finally being put into place.”

A stinging pain erupts on Dedue’s arm and Dedue looks down confused. 

“Why are you pinching me?” he asks Flayn. 

“I’m testing your resilience,” she answers him. “Did it hurt?” 

“It felt like I was being pinched.” 

She purses her lips and twirls a piece of green hair around her finger as she thinks of the other answers. “Dimitri, do you have a hammer? I believe more testing is necessary.”

“I disagree.” 

Dimitri frowns and tugs Dedue by the arm away from Flayn. “What are you doing to him?” he asks. 

“It’s only natural for one to be curious,” Flayn says. “Who knows what new and exciting changes could take place in the body of The Chosen One. Various lore describes an abundance of possibilities! Perhaps you’ll gain magical abilities, or find an animal companion or–“

“I’m not,” Dedue cuts her off. The contrast between her concern from earlier to her current willingness to brain him with a hammer is stark. It’d be funny if he weren’t so concerned about the idea of being thrust into a savior role incorrectly. “It’s just a coincidence that the world is ending on my birthday, nothing more.” 

Nobody speaks as Dedue looks around the room for affirmation on what he assumes to be obvious. 

“Everything has always pointed to Dimitri, not me. He’s the one that awakened you. He’s the one that’s royalty. I’m only here to help. A companion. Nothing more,” he repeats himself, once again reifying his placement in the narrative. 

Seteth’s voice is gentle as he speaks to him. “It’s not so cut and dry as that, Dedue.”

“How so?” 

“Well,” Seteth says. “You were there when Flayn and I were awakened. I had presumed Dimitri was the catalyst, but there’s nothing to say that it was solely him.” 

Flayn nods. “And considering the fact that you also found this relic in the same manner without Dimitri anywhere near you, it’s safe to say that you could be the trigger for it. In fact, it’s significantly more likely to be so.”

“Also,” Dimitri interjects. “The demonic beasts are supposed to chase after The Chosen One. The wolf beast attacked you, but it ignored me.” 

Dedue is running out of defenses. “Okay,” he says. “But I don’t have a distant royal relative.”

Seteth sighs. “In the grand scheme of things, that feels a bit minor. Bloodlines are mysterious and who knows what’s in your distant past.” 

“I really do think I would know if I had royal lineage though,” Dedue argues and crosses his arms. Dimitri’s staring at him, as if he’s trying to puzzle something out or view the micro royalty that doesn’t exist within him. “What?” he asks.

“Dedue, didn’t your father own a food truck?” 

“Yes?” Dedue says, not understanding why he’s being asked this.

Dimitri nods. “And what was the name of it?”

Dedue narrows his eyes, already understanding where he’s going with this and hating the implication preemptively. “Does it matter?” 

“Dedue,” Dimitri repeats. “Could you please inform us all of the name of your father’s establishment.”

“I apologize,” Seteth says, “but how is this a priority?”

Neither of them acknowledges the question. They remain locked in stubborn eye contact staring each other down.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Dedue tells him. 

“Please?” Dimitri pleads. “What was it called?”

Dedue sighs as he relents, his face stone and refusing to give off any expression as he answers Dimitri in a flat, mumbling tone. “ _ The Grill Kin _ g.”

“My good friend, I believe that makes you The Grill Prince.” He sounds so chipper as he speaks. The expression on his face is foreign, and it takes Dedue a second to recognize it as relaxation. Relaxing is something Dedue hadn’t ever seen Dimitri do even once in his life. 

“I’ll take it,” Seteth says. “Whether it’s a distant lineage or a business franchise, what matters is the present.” He turns and addresses Dedue directly. He still looks frazzled, still concerned and out of place in all this. It’s easy to forget that Seteth isn’t human, at least until he was up close and his features were more visible. His bone structure was a bit too sharp. The shape of his eyes distinctively unrecognizable and the slope of his nose thin. Flayn was the same way. Foreign in a way that wasn’t immediately recognizable at a first glance. There was a millennium carved into his face. 

“Dedue, I am truly sorry for whatever mistake I made in misidentifying The Chosen One.” Sincerity flared alongside his slitted pupils, exuding compassionate veridian in glossy irises. “I wish I could have given you more time to prepare for this. Really all of us, but you can do this. I won’t abandon you to this, I swear. You’re not alone in this.”

Dedue wants to argue, but his words die on his tongue, unable to argue against the adamant belief Seteth held for him.

A small hand covers Dedue’s own, and the same look of fierce determination is mirrored by Flayn’s own unnaturally green eyes. “If there was anyone that I would entrust the fate of the world to, it would be a Virgo,” she tells him. 

Seteth scoffs, nothing but fondness in his tone. 

“So, what now?” Dedue asks. 

“Well,” Seteth says. “Time is of the essence. The time frame varies across texts, but the general consensus is that there are only a few days between the first shattering of the sky and the eventual end of civilization.” 

Dimitri nods. They had read over the same myths and legends again and again in the last few years. “The sky breaks, demons appear, The Chosen One is gifted the blessing of the gods, etcetera etcetera.” 

“Good news,” Flayn says. “I believe we’ve already done all of that, so we are moving swiftly down the checklist of saving the world!” 

“Over the course of the next few days, things will get worse,” Seteth tells them. “Like I said, there will be further erosion of our reality. More demons will appear. This will not be easy, and this will be dangerous.” 

It’s not like Dedue never expected it to be easy. “But what exactly are we doing beyond the abstract of ‘save the world’?”

“Well, we will need to go to Florida,” Seteth says.

Dedue furrows his eyebrows. “No, really.” 

“Yes, really. Consistently, the literature points to southern Florida as the place for a final confrontation.”

Dimitri rubs his chin and considers it. “That sounds appropriate.” 

“Also,” Flayn says. “There is a prophet who lives there as well.” 

Seteth scowls. “Yes, I suppose there is.” 

Dedue blinks at the animosity in Seteth’s voice, and Seteth, sensing the confusion, sighs. 

“He’s a children’s book writer,” he explains. 

“He is also my father’s greatest rival,” Flayn adds on. 

“That is not accurate,” Seteth corrects her in a way that indicates that it is definitely accurate. “He is a relatively new writer who only appeared in literature a few years back. All his stories are detailed and vivid retellings of the mythology surrounding the apocalypse and the pieces of lore that predate it.” 

Dimitri appears confused. “And these are children’s stories?” 

“Yes. In short time, the information that has been gathered in these picture books comprises the same amount of knowledge as centuries of my own research. Maybe more. There is not a single scholar with a better grasp on this history than this author. He must be the prophet foretold to help you along your way. There is no other explanation.” 

“Okay,” Dedue says. “So, we find this prophet. In Florida.” 

“Yes.” 

“And then what?”

“And then you do whatever the prophet says. He’s a prophet after all.” 

“Fair enough.”

“Question,” Dimitri says. “How are we going to get to Florida? I’m doubtful we can fly.”

Flayn frowns. “I would suggest driving, but…”

Dedue feels an ache in his chest as he’s reminded of the state of his car. 

“Is there something in the mythology that suggests a solution for the hero's journey?” Dimitri asks. 

Seteth thinks about it, stroking his chin as he recalls the details of lore stored deep in his brain. “It is foretold in some versions that for the final encounter, the Savior King and his companion were gifted a chariot by a loyal knight.”

“Do you think Sylvain would lend us his car?” Dimitri asks. “That’s practically the same thing.”

Dedue shrugs. “Sure.” 

“An interesting modern take,” Seteth muses as if he were reviewing a screen adaptation instead of their current situation. “I can see how that would translate similarly. There are a few other instances of philanthropy. A chariot from the knight. A spyglass provided by the prophet. In some versions, but not all, there’s even a witch’s tome! I wonder if they would also have an appearance.” 

Seteth’s face twists up for a second, and he stops narrating his thoughts for a moment as Dimitri’s suggestion fully sinks in. “I understand the need for a car, but must it really be from Sylvain?” 

Before Dimitri can begin to explain the lack of options available, a distant rumbling is heard outside. A familiar pressure in the air builds around them, as if there was too much oxygen swelling the room and making Dedue feel lightheaded. A sensation even more intense coupled with the earth beginning to shake.

This time, when there’s an eruption of sound above of something breaking, it isn’t the same loud, singular action from before. Instead, it’s the noise of a thousand bells all cracking down the center at once. A further fracturing of the damage already done. 

Dedue looks at Seteth for guidance as he watches frames fall from walls and vases clatter to the ground. Surely, Seteth will know what to do in this situation. Seteth always knows what to do. But when Dedue looks to him for guidance, there’s a panic unlike any other on his face. 

“Flayn,” Seteth says through clenched teeth. 

Beside him, Flayn looks equally abhorred. The two of them are clearly experiencing something else separate from Dedue and Dimitri. Her nails dig into the table, her irises slitted with an angry fear as she shakes her head in jagged movements. 

“You two,” Seteth says in a rush of words trying to get as much information out as possible, as if it may be his only chance to relay instructions to them, but that couldn’t be right. “You must go and find the prophet. His alias is B.V Varley, but his name is Bernie. You must find him and–“ 

He doesn’t finish his statement. Where Seteth once stood, only a statue remained. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have another chapter posted next Saturday! We'll get more characters too :)   
> My twitter can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/biheretic?s=20)


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